


keep me where the light is

by xylomylo



Category: TWICE (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Companionship, F/F, ish ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:01:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25930255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xylomylo/pseuds/xylomylo
Summary: “nayeon!” sana screams. it’s enough to turn her blood ice cold, and nayeon snaps. fires one last round, and turns to sana. this isn’t happening. no, no, no —“nayeon?”
Relationships: ? - Relationship, Im Nayeon/Minatozaki Sana, Im Nayeon/Minatozaki Sana/Myoui Mina, Im Nayeon/Myoui Mina
Comments: 2
Kudos: 188
Collections: Shot Thru the Heart: A Writing Collection





	keep me where the light is

**Author's Note:**

> no macdonalds only kfc. title from john mayer's gravity

/

  
  
  


the air is quiet. still. peaceful. an illusion that nayeon is no longer stupid enough to believe in — at least not anymore. she sits upright, rigid and alert, hand on her pistol, and waits for the last few minutes of dusk to pass by. scans the vicinity for any movement, and doesn't let her eyes wander anywhere else.

it is colder, now. winter might be coming. it’s probably fall, but the trees have been barren for so long nayeon no longer remembers what they used to look like. they’ve all lost track of time. days and months and years no longer matter, because no one plans for the future. there is only today, where they do their best to stay alive: to kill, or to be killed. 

her watch beeps. it’s a soft reminder that her shift is over. she wants to pay it no heed, but it’s like her body  _ knows _ , and demands the rest it needs. nayeon gives her surroundings one last look, comforting herself with the fact that they’re in the clear for now, before abandoning her post. everything is suddenly heavy, and her body moves on autopilot, walking into the shared room — 

she doesn’t even need to say anything. mina opens her eyes. clambers out of bed instantly. ties her hair up quickly, before lacing on her boots and grabbing her rifle. they’re all light sleepers, and nayeon had known that her footsteps alone would wake mina; surviving this long only meant that they’ve gotten used to reacting to the smallest of sounds — it’s no wonder the bags underneath both their eyes will never go away.

but it’s a small price to pay for survival, she thinks, as mina gives her a smile that barely reaches her eyes. stands on her tippy toes to press her lips to nayeon’s cheek, and leaves, right after. it is routine. it is the worst part of her day.

sometimes, she finds the strength to return mina’s smile. it makes her feel like her life has more purpose than it actually does, when mina’s eyes crinkle into warm mornings and a promise of something better. those are the days where she buries herself in the present, in mina’s long black hair that has already grown to reach the middle of her back, and reminds herself of mina’s bravery, and _ presence —  _ those are the days where she does not dream in her sleep. 

but today isn’t one of those days — nayeon tucks herself into bed. closes her eyes, and dreams of sunset hair and a ringing laughter that makes her heart ache.

  
  
  


/

  
  
  


“what will you do if i get bitten?” sana asks, mouth full of baked beans. 

nayeon doesn't spare her a glance. “shut up and eat.” she looks through their barely-there stash. frowns at the lack of food, and does some quick calculations. “we might need to go for a supply run soon. ” 

“but seriously,” sana swallows. pays no attention to whatever that was just said. she’s lying on her side, in the middle of the kitchen, and the afternoon sun makes her orange hair look like angry flames: a force to be reckoned with. nayeon knows it to be true, now. she’s reminded of it whenever they hold negotiations with other survivors at supply runs. they are a party of two, and are usually at a disadvantage regarding the splitting of supplies because of the larger parties, but sana never gets intimidated by them and they always end up with more than what they’d expected. “what will you do?” 

“kill myself,” nayeon deadpans. closes the cupboards. this safehouse is bigger than their last, but there’s something about filling up more of the space they have that doesn’t sit right with her. it’s the smart thing to do — more supplies means fewer runs, and less exposure, and maybe then she wouldn’t have to think about sana’s question. “i think we’re almost out of food.” 

sana giggles. pours the last of the beans into her mouth. some of it dribbles down the sides of her lips. “how morbid. it’s like we’re romeo and juliet.” she grins sloppily amidst it all — it makes nayeon’s heart stutter in her chest. she wants to kiss her. it is absolutely disgusting. 

“ew,” nayeon cringes. “i refuse to be a shakespearean tragedy.” then kicks away the empty can of beans, before joining her on the floor — this new neighbourhood they stumbled upon seems to be pretty safe, for now; maybe they can afford to lower their guard, if even just for awhile. “so you can’t get bitten, okay?” something weird crawls up in her throat. it feels like desperation, and it makes nayeon grab sana’s hand, just because.

“of course i won’t,” sana squeezes her hand. “i’m just talking about a possibility, you know. just in case.” pats it a few times. for effect. but her eyes are still dark and hard, and it looks like she’s about to announce something final. “you can’t kill yourself, babe.”

when nayeon doesn’t answer immediately, sana’s voice drops lower, all traces of earlier jokes gone. it is flat out serious, and very, very not sana. “you have to keep fighting, nayeon. you can’t be one of them. promise me.” 

her face inches closer. sana smells like the ground. sand and earth. and grass. and home. “you can’t let them win.”

nayeon bites her lips. sana’s fiery gaze holds her hostage, in the same way it used to before: when everything was fine and dandy, when their biggest worries were trying to graduate college by attending as few lectures as possible. and like before, she can never say no to sana — so she nods.

the smile that sana sends her way calms the swirl of discomfort in her stomach. but it does nothing to extinguish the worry lingering at the back of nayeon’s mind, or make her forget the words she had meant to say — 

_ but what about you? _

  
  
  


/

  
  
  


she’s running. running and running and running. her legs burn, as she pushes ahead even more, past trees and more trees. they all look the same. she has no idea where she is.

_ no safehouse is safe.  _ nayeon blinks away the tears. commits this to memory.  _ no safehouse is safe. no safehouse is safe. no safehouse is safe—  _

a gunshot rings out. she drops to the ground, knees scraping against the outgrown roots underneath the dried leaves crunching under her feet. it hurts. everything hurts. 

it’s quiet, for one second, before the groaning resumes, and nayeon chances a look up. turns around to check on the zombies that were chasing her — they’ve started moving, again, other than the one that now lies on the ground with a bullet in the middle of its forehead — she reaches for her pistol purely out of instinct, and fires — 

there’s nothing. it’s empty. the hollow  _ click  _ slaps her back into the painful reality that she’s knee-deep in: nayeon is alone, out of ammo, and sana is — 

nayeon closes her eyes. sana is smiling. always smiling; even when her knives are brandished, and her back turned to the door just to yell a warning; even when the gnarly teeth of the zombie had sank into her arm; even when she had yelled at nayeon to  _ run —  _

this is it, she thinks. feels all the fight leave her body. it goes slack. their romeo and juliet ending, in the twenty-first century. modernised in the most hellish way possible — there is only sana, and sana, before her face had crumpled with the pain of the bite — how is she to face an entire world alone?

there’s another gunshot. it’s louder than before, as though the person who fired it is closer, now. nayeon doesn’t care. but they ring out more, in quick succession, until it goes quiet, and there are no more unrhythmic footsteps that she knows will haunt her in the nightmares to come. there is only a set of careful footfalls that approach her, softly. hesitatingly. as though they’re afraid, too. 

maybe it’s sana. maybe it was all a dream. maybe it was because of the shrooms she’d found at the back of the lecture hall, and it was all an acid trip, and sana will be there to pour cold water on her face and laugh at her sleeping with her mouth wide open — 

nayeon opens her eyes. it’s not sana.

  
  
  


/

  
  
  


there are too many of them. they’re clogging up the doorway, and sana is the first to react, despite the searing pain in her arm that nayeon knows will spread rapidly in the next few hours.

“nayeon!” she yells. hacks her way through the closest ones, while trying to stay out of their reach. “nayeon, you have to go. now!” 

nayeon doesn’t answer. only steadies her pistol with both hands, and focuses on accuracy — she’s running low on ammo, and every bullet has to count. one shot, one kill. right in between the eyes. 

“nayeon!” sana screams. it’s enough to turn her blood ice cold, and nayeon snaps. fires one last round, and turns to sana. this isn’t happening. no, no,  _ no  _ — 

“nayeon?” 

nayeon blinks. the voice is different, now. soothing, and soft. in another universe, it would have pushed her right back into the bubble of a good eight-hour slumber, and she would dream about rainbows and butterflies and peace; in this one, she jolts awake immediately.

it’s mina, brows pinched together in concern. a sight she shouldn’t have to see. 

“we should get going.” it is quiet. it runs along the tendons of nayeon’s heart, smoothing out the jagged edges of the nightmare, and the deeper scars that only time can heal. she momentarily forgets.

they are a good team. nayeon washes up quickly. rolls up the last of her spare clothes. packs the rest of their supplies. there isn’t much left, because they’ve learnt to travel light, and not stay in one place for too long. the zombies are smarter now, with recognising human scents, and that is a risk they (she) cannot afford. not since — 

“you were having a nightmare again,” the other girl says. zips up her bag. she’s all ready to go, but nayeon would like to think that she knows mina well enough to see the regret blurring the corners of her eyes — it doesn’t take much to realise that mina gets attached to places too easily. things, too. she supposes it’s also why mina had taken her in.

nayeon shrugs. slings her bag over her shoulder. “it’s fine.” she nods towards the door. it’s nothing new. “let’s go.” lingering is pointless, when they have nothing to stay for — it only makes it more difficult to leave, and will eventually slow them down. she gives the living room one last look, before heading out, and checks her pistol one last time. where mina is soft, she is hard — they are a good team. 

it is a long journey. all nayeon knows is that they are heading west, where there is rumoured to be more supplies. mina trudges ahead, trusty compass keeping them on track, footsteps light and alert. 

they enter the woods. it’s barren, just like everywhere else. nayeon quickens her footsteps. tries not to let herself get trapped in sticky nostalgia already clouding her vision — this is where mina had saved her, and where she had once given up — the heaviness in the air translates into shorter breaths, and in a desperate attempt to stay grounded, she reaches for mina’s hand. 

it is calloused. rougher than what she last remembers, but the reassurance comes in waves so high it drowns her in mere seconds. nayeon surfaces, breathing in mina, and it’s like she’s plugged back in to reality. 

mina smiles. it reignites the beacon of hope somewhere in her chest, and nayeon swears that this time,  _ this time,  _ she will do everything she can to keep it burning. because mina, brave, kind mina deserves so much more. so much more than her emotional baggage can give — 

“who’s sana?” 

nayeon blinks. almost trips on her own feet. even then, she doesn't stop, or slow down. the sun is already setting, and they have yet to find a place to stay, for the night — preferably one that is not out in the open. but beggars can’t be choosers, and nayeon will never be one. 

“you always say her name in your sleep.” mina is probing. even then, it is layered, with nonchalance draped over a curiosity nayeon knows is accumulated. the dreams are a daily occurrence, and it must have been a burden on mina, too.

“she was a good friend,” her mouth works. her mind doesn’t. settles on ‘friend’, because what else would she say? the words flow from a faucet once frozen; the hope she cups in the palm of her hands melts the uncertainty away, because mina deserves to know. “it was just me and her, before she got bitten.” 

mina squeezes her hand. again, they don’t stop — time waits for no man, in the same way they will only wait for each other. but there is a force behind the hand in hers, and nayeon submits to the altered gravity that keeps her upright. that keeps them going. maybe it is in the way they don’t have to say much. she knows. she hopes mina knows.

“you’re okay,” the other girl finds her eyes. holds it for a few heartbeats, until they settle into a steady rhythm that paces the rest of the road they will travel. nayeon doesn’t say anything else. she knows. she knows mina knows. 

  
  
  


/

  
  
  


mina notices it first. 

"we have company," she stands up. reaches for her rifle. nayeon knows the drill by now: draw her pistol. wait by the side, until mina gives the signal. she's not surprised — taking shelter in an open hut in the middle of the woods isn't exactly subtle, and it puts them right in the open. 

"how many?" nayeon squints. it's dark, and she's always had bad eyesight regardless. pats her pockets to make sure she always has extra ammo — they cannot afford to be making such rookie mistakes anymore. 

mina shakes her head. waits. it's suddenly quiet. nayeon focuses on the sounds that she's learnt to anticipate: the moaning, the ragged breathing, the dragging of feet — there are none. she frowns — 

"it's a survivor, nayeon." mina heaves a sigh. nayeon doesn't. "look."

nayeon looks. her pistol is still in her hand. there's a silhouette of someone crouched, right behind the tree that's closest to them. then their head peeks out slightly, and there is a flash of orange hair that freezes all the air in her lungs — 

she shakes away all thoughts of that. it’s probably just a coincidence. there is no point in getting her hopes up for something impossible, and she refocuses her attention on the hobbling figure that inches nearer to them, step by step. it’s a survivor all right — the way that person makes it a point to avoid the branches and leaves on the ground says a lot about their knowledge of the zombies, and it makes nayeon less worried to know that they’re about to welcome someone of a certain capability into their measly group of two.

or not. maybe mina will offer them help, and then they’ll get closer, and mina will realise how much more valuable the other person is, and nayeon will have to go her own way. maybe they’ll fight, and mina will realise what a burden nayeon actually is. or mina will finally decide that she’s tired of carrying nayeon’s weight — 

“nayeon?” 

it cannot be. she turns around. the survivor stands a metre away, a face she still sees in her dreams. one that she could never bring herself to forget.

“sana.”

it is sana. painfully human sana. her hair is as orange as nayeon remembers, the fire of the sun still burning steadfast. but it doesn’t reach her eyes. everything else is different: the slant of her eyebrows, the scar on her cheek, the paleness of her lips — 

the disbelief pushes nayeon forward. she drops her pistol. it is sana, alive, in front of her, and everything is suddenly right again. she reaches out slowly, wanting a confirmation of the very tangible reality unfolding from the depths of her recurring dreams, wisps curling into actual matter and a familiar pillowy softness beneath her fingertips. the relief that follows melts the air in her lungs, and nayeon breathes. 

“sana,” she repeats. “sana.” gives the other girl a proper once-over. there are a million questions waiting to be asked, but as heavy as they weigh on her tongue, none of them make it out of her mouth. 

because sana steps back, away from her, and promptly collapses.

  
  
  


/

  
  
  


“give her some time,” mina hands her some water. nayeon takes it begrudgingly. it does nothing to quiet her mind.

they sit. sana sleeps behind them, in nayeon’s sleeping bag. the sun is long gone, and they shouldn’t be staying for long. but sana had refused to talk after regaining consciousness, and mina had immediately called for her to rest. nayeon had yielded only because sana looked like shit (all of them do) and nayeon isn’t going to risk it; she swears that this time,  _ this time _ , she will do everything she can to keep this sunset fire alive. 

she chances a glance at mina. the other girl is never one for words, but nayeon knows. she thinks she knows. it’s in the way mina stepped forward earlier, surely and steadily, catching sana right before she hit the ground; tending to the little cuts littering the entire length of her arms — it is the same care she once was at the receiving end of, and it is mina’s way of showing affection.

(it’s in the way she doesn’t need to ask mina if sana can stay.)

“do you think it's possible?” the water is bland. she swallows some, but her throat still feels like sandpaper. “to be immune to the bite.” 

“i’ve heard rumours,” mina says. “but no one was able to confirm it.” she turns around. reaches to rearrange the blankets covering sana. “nothing’s impossible, right?” 

nayeon snorts. nothing is impossible, when everything that was previously deemed so has already happened: ripped their lives right out of their hands, and dumped them into a warped void for survival. no one really remembers how it started — the average survivor will call it a biohazard disaster. before, she would spend her free time with sana speculating different conspiracy theories, because there were rumours of secret government projects that involved a superhuman prototype. but none of that matters anymore, when faced with a life-or-death situation every day, and all the energy she has left is spent on plotting out their next move.

“give her some time,” mina repeats. it is a whisper that effortlessly caresses nayeon’s frazzled thoughts. she turns, too. looks at sana frowning in her sleep. there are new wrinkles and scars that have made their marks on the other girl through time, and each one of them is a barb straight to nayeon’s heart. because she realises, with a belated unpacking of everything that has happened, that — 

“i left her to die, mina.” nayeon lays the words out evenly. the acceptance is bitter on her tongue. “i’m sure she hates me.” 

sana is back. but everything is different, and nayeon has no idea how to navigate through the sana that has returned. there is so much she wants to say, to do, to make up for everything she could have done — 

“it took you three days before you were willing to talk to me,” is all mina says. 

  
  
  


/

  
  
  


the new neighbourhood is excellent, for their standards. they take up residence in an empty house that’s not too far from a bottleneck. mina is smiling more, and by extension, nayeon does, too. 

(nayeon thinks sana does, too.)

sana is looking better these days. it’s enough for nayeon to have somewhat of a peace of mind. a three-person team means more time to rest, and with more time to rest comes more time to… overthink.

“are you hungry?” nayeon hasn’t given up. not for the day. slides a can of beans to sana. the dreams no longer plague her sleep, but she wishes they still would. it’s the only time she gets to see sana smiling and laughing, with life in her eyes. 

sana takes it wordlessly. the silence rings uncomfortably in nayeon’s ears. she sighs. closes her eyes momentarily. in another timeline where sana never got bitten, nayeon knows sana would definitely have made a joke. she herself would have laughed. said something stupid, maybe. it formulates neatly behind her eyelids — whatever that could have been. should have been. 

“i’m just glad you’re alive,” nayeon ends up saying. pushes down the beginnings of her frustration, and stands up. she’s never one for patience. walks away quickly. it costs her the shadow of regret flickering across sana’s face.

mina is cleaning her rifle. nayeon joins her on the ground, outside. huffs. kicks the ground for no reason at all. it earns her a second of mina’s attention, before the other girl resumes wiping down the different parts of her rifle. 

parts? oh. she eyes them. before, nayeon would have said something about mina cleaning her rifle  _ while  _ on watch, because  _ how the hell are you going to defend us with a dismantled rifle?  _ but the need to always be on guard no longer holds her by the hair, and the air is somewhat lighter. she wonders what changed. 

“it’s been five days,” nayeon sighs. stomps her feet. there would be absolutely no point in getting irritated at sana’s unresponsiveness, but the irritation is there, somewhere underneath her skin. “is this how you felt when you first saved me?”

mina puts down the cloth. “yes.” she looks nayeon in the eye. “and also no, because we didn’t have history prior to this.” 

nayeon looks away. the shame hits her tenfold in the silence that settles over them. the thing about having their lives turned upside down so quickly is that: all that matters is living. death and the undead leave little room for things like feelings, and drawing boundaries, and okay. she knows mina already knows, but how is she going to put it into words? 

she doesn’t. takes mina’s hand. holds it in between both of hers. remembers the hope that mina had reignited in her, and channels the same warmth into their joined hands. it makes the edges of mina’s lips curl into something that tells nayeon that it’s okay. that she’s okay. that they’re okay. it’s enough for today. 

behind them, sana watches, with an empty can of beans in her hand.

(they stay like that, as the sun sets.)

  
  
  


/

  
  
  


“did you save her?”

mina opens her eyes. sana is questioning. staring. waiting. so much for trying to get some shut-eye. 

“yes.” she pushes herself up. it’s finally happening. mina sneaks a glance to the door. thinks about calling nayeon in, just for a moment, to witness the one thing she knows the other girl has waited so long for. it doesn’t go unnoticed by sana — she stiffens, and mina regrets it immediately.

“i’m sorry,” she puts both her hands up. “i’m not calling her in.” shelves the idea immediately. it takes a while for sana to visibly relax, and it is only then that mina drops her arms. 

“thank you.” sana is smiling. it is broken, and mina is taken aback by how it echoes the same bitterness she had seen in nayeon back then. it’s still there, sometimes, when nayeon thinks no one is looking, but it’s moved on to something they all carry on their shoulders. something that sticks to the weariness behind their eyelids. “for that. and for allowing me to stay.” 

mina shakes her head. returns the smile. it makes sana shift a little nearer to her on the bed, and mina welcomes it. comfort is all she can give when they only have each other, and she was never one for leaving, anyway. 

“she says your name in her sleep every night,” she offers. facts are facts. they can’t be changed, but they are always good for a change. another perspective. but mina is sure that sana already knows this, since they’ve all been sleeping on the same bed, and she has good enough reason to back her assumption that sana, too, is a light sleeper. 

“i know,” it’s sana’s turn to lie down, close enough for mina to realise that sana has really, really long eyelashes. they’re pretty, in the way they flutter when she blinks up owlishly. as though waiting for mina to say something else — 

she doesn’t. her mouth goes dry, and sana rolls over to her side. 

  
  
  


/

  
  
  


nayeon wakes with a start. there’s an earthquake, maybe, because her entire world is shaking. she jolts upright immediately, reaching for her pistol, and opens her mouth to yell for mina — 

it’s sana, curled into a ball. the other girl is thrashing about wildly, in the clutches of a nightmare, fisting the sheets around them like her life depends on it. nayeon swallows. the sight of it calls upon her own demons, and she takes a deep breath. steadies herself, before scooping sana into a hug.

“sana,” she calls. grabs her wrists. “wake up.” nayeon shakes her awake. brushes the hair covering her eyes. sana’s jaw is locked, and her eyes are squeezed shut so hard nayeon wonders what it is she doesn’t want to see. 

“sana!” 

sana’s eyes shoot open. they are the same hazel goodness that has always encompassed nayeon. but in that small limbo between sleep and reality, she sees bits and pieces of the sana she used to know. they are discoloured and muddied with time, embedded in the sunken footsteps of a journey she wished they could have shared. even then, all she wants to do is to pick them up, and put them together. 

“i’m sorry,” sana croaks. folds herself into nayeon. they wait for the sobs to start, to wrack her body, like they always do after a particularly bad dream. but it never does, and all nayeon feels is sana’s body loosening, as though it’s too tired of being taut all the time. 

she doesn’t say anything. in another universe — the same one nayeon seeks refuge in — she says something. there are a thousand ways of comforting someone, and ninety percent of them involve words of some sort. be it reassurance or denial, nayeon’s always been quick to verbalise things. 

but now, in the face of something so impeccably fragile, her tongue freezes. the words don’t come, and there is no pressure to force them out from nothing. maybe it’s because of mina’s influence — she finds peace in the volume of silence filling the space between them, and appreciates the beauty of the smallest of actions; nayeon tightens her arms around sana. 

“you didn’t kill yourself.” sana says. “why?” her voice is heavy in the darkness of the night, and it makes nayeon’s chest constrict mercilessly with the weight of the unspoken. the silence shatters ungracefully, sharp edges cutting through the haze of a false ending. it’s like a switch has been flipped, because the words come so easily now; sana has to know, and nayeon finds herself back at square one — 

“i couldn’t let them win.” she mumbles. digs her fingers into sana’s shirt. it’s her honouring the promise she made back then, and the small gasp sana lets out tells nayeon that sana remembers it, too.

this isn’t a shakespearean tragedy. this is a story with no ending in sight, and nayeon is left to anchor the remains of what she has, and swears to do whatever she can to keep it that way. 

they stay like that, until the sun rises. 

(behind them, mina watches.)

  
  
  


/

  
  
  


it rains. 

nayeon feels the first few drops on her hand. watches the way they run across the length of her palm, as more and more of them fall to the ground in the beginnings of a shower. it’s been raining more often these days, but she isn’t complaining — it’s the only time the zombies don’t come out, and the only time they can be at ease.

no one really knows why. there are all sorts of rumours, but the gist of it is something along the lines of the zombies hating the rain, and nayeon really isn’t that invested in knowing more. they’re going to be here for forever more, and nothing matters more than spending every second possible with the people beside her, in this moment. 

she smiles. brushes off the dirt on her pants, and heads in. there’s always been beauty living in the present. for the present. but there’s more of a subtle easiness to things, in the flow of time, as she kicks off her boots and walks towards the bed. 

it is soft. a small luxury they are grateful for, and nayeon always, always looks forward to flopping facedown on it. sana laughs. it doesn’t tinkle as much as before, but it still makes nayeon feel like she’s home. and that’s okay. 

“is it raining?” mina murmurs, from the other side. her eyes are still closed, but nayeon knows that she’s as awake as any of them are — if the rain didn’t wake her, then nayeon’s footsteps should have. it doesn’t matter because mina is smiling, too.

“yes.” nayeon crawls under the covers. takes her place in the middle. stretches out in the shape of a starfish, before bending down to kiss mina’s cheek. it turns into the shade of sunset that she’s grown so fond of, and the other girl covers her face shyly. the hope in her burns brighter every day. a light that keeps her going. 

sana rolls over, like always. her hair fans across the pillow; a fire stronger than before, fueled by the upward crook of her lips. a light that keeps her from straying. nayeon thinks it’s been silencing her demons ever since. 

“sleep,” sana whispers. “mina, too.” she says, a little louder over the rain. 

nayeon nods. stares at the ceiling. lets the sound of their quiet breaths echo in her ears, and drown out her own thoughts. tucks herself into bed. closes her eyes — 

she doesn’t dream. 

  
  
  


/


End file.
